Futari no Koto
by Hina-chan-san
Summary: If everyone knows that a dream should only be a dream, then why is it that the worst dream that exists is a dream that begins like any other? Why are they so real?


**Title:** 「二㆟のこと」 「futari no koto」 「about the two of us」

**Pairing:** Giripan, no lemon. Just shōnen-ai.

**Summary:** Angst-y HeraKiku. Because everyone knows that the worst type of nightmare begins like any good dream.

**Rating:** T+ for slight language and (some!) sexual innuendos.

* * *

><p>— 「きく」— (Kiku) —<p>

* * *

><p>「一人」 「ひとり」 「hitori」 「one」<p>

The beat thuds insistently through my consciousness, ドキ、ドキ_ — __doki, __doki_. This is what my mind registers first. It flows through me at an accelerated pace, causing me to feel warm, not necessarily hot enough for discomfort, but resulting in a singular — not unpleasant — tingling feeling wherever it seems warmest.

At this observation, I relax a bit and stretch, noting how the flow of the beat slows as well. This particular sensation is one I have only associated with him.

_Heracles-san._

I fidget a little more, still lying down, eyes closed. Where is Heracles-san? I only get this particular feeling when I'm around him, or, as seems to be the case lately, when he is touching me, or I him.

_But __I __can __tell __he__'__s __not __here __with__ me. __So __where __is __he? __This _is _his __house, __after __all.__.__._

* * *

><p>「記憶」 「きおく」 「kioku」 「memory」<p>

Most likely, Heracles-san was restless and could not sleep as long as he usually does. Perhaps his cats woke him.

I sigh, and finally climb out of bed. If that is indeed the case, then Heracles-san is probably feeding them right now.

As I make my way through Heracles-san's house, I idly check all the places he might be. There are plenty of nooks and crannies where cats — and by proxy, Heracles-san himself — may be found.

But Heracles-san nor his cats are anywhere to be found. Well, almost nowhere. _He __must __be__ in __the __old__ wing._

I make my way quickly to the old wing. Upon trying a door, I discover that it is already unlocked. _So__ Heracles-san __is __here, __after __all._ At this thought, I smile and breathe a little sigh of relief.

It is still difficult for me to believe that Heracles-san was with me. _After__ all, __he__'__s __got __his__ pick __of __how __many __others.__.__._ That he had chosen me, of all people, was something that my mind still has trouble articulating from time to time.

I'd asked Heracles-san once what had compelled him to choose me. He'd blinked as if caught off-guard, then shrugged.

_"__Because__ I__ fell __in __love __with __you, __of __course,__"_ he'd said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The frank honesty in his tone had caught me unawares, so I hadn't pursued the subject further.

I smile softly, remembering the slight blush on Heracles-san's face when he'd answered. _Heracles-san__ can __get __embarrassed, __too.__.__._ Occupied by such thoughts, I almost didn't notice it until too late.

* * *

><p>「猫」 「ねこ」 「neko」 「a cat」<p>

By natural reflexes, I manage to avoid being knocked off balance by the cat. I guess my own sudden movement must have caught her off-guard as well, for she stopped abruptly and looked at me warily.

This was one of the newer mothers in Heracles-san's brood. He'd expressed concern over her well-being — apparently, one of her kittens was given to fits of "exploration." She was holding the offending kitten by the scruff of its neck, but neither feline had moved since the mother had taken notice of my presence.

She appeared to have been frightened by something, but perhaps that was the panic resulting from her child disappearing. I carefully crouch and slowly hold out a hand toward her, but at that gesture, she was off like a shot.

* * *

><p>「昔」 「むかし」 「mukashi」 「long ago」<p>

I ease myself up slowly to avoid knocking anything over. _It__ would __be __a __shame __if__ anything__ were__ to__ break,_ I muse to myself. This is the part of the house in which Heracles-san keeps various odds and ends that he finds while excavating his mother's ruins. They might not be worth very much, but they're precious to him.

Heracles-san is not in any of the rooms I have checked so far, and I'm beginning to doubt that he's in the house when I hear it — a hushed, barely audible moan. At first, I dismiss it as a figment of my imagination: _it __must__ have__ been __a __gust __of __wind._ But no, it comes again, slightly louder this time, accompanied by a groan of barely suppressed pain.

* * *

><p>「君」 「きみ」 「kimi」 「you」<p>

I quicken my pace as the sounds grow louder. The thud is back and more relentless than ever; every beat is taunting me as if to say, _"__better__ hurry __up, __who__ knows __what __you__'__ll __find?__"_ The last thing on my mind right now is the contents of the wing. I hear a crash but the sound soon recedes into the distance; by the time the echo is swallowed by the stillness I am long gone.

The only thing I can think of right now is Heracles-san. I repeat his name over and over again, like a mantra that wards against evil — _Heracles-san, __Heracles-san, __Heracles-san.__.__._— he has to be all right, he has to be! _.__.__.Heracles-san,__ Heracles-san, __Heracles-san.__.__._

It feels like forever before I reach the door, the source of those pathetic noises. They're coming from a spare bedroom. _He __sleeps__ in__ here __sometimes, __to __be __closer __to __his __mother._ Hesitantly, I raise a hand to touch the doorknob — an intruder might still be there — but a detached part of me observes that the door was left slightly ajar. Suddenly, there is a wet, racking cough, like someone just tore a sodden piece of cloth apart.

Throwing all caution to the winds, I throw the door open, only to be rewarded with this gruesome scene. Instinctively, I shut my eyes, some primitive sense telling me to hide, to run away. Steeling my wits once more, I square my shoulders for the inevitable.

* * *

><p>「赤い」 「あかい」 「akai」 「red」<p>

I open my eyes. And I still can't believe what they are telling me. _"__Oh __God.__.__.__"_ my mouth forms the words almost inaudibly.

A horrific vision awaits my eyes. Dark red fading to mere traces, then swelling to dark reddish-brown rivulets, like rust. The unmistakable smell of human blood. In other words, a scene that looks more at home on a battlefield, rather than Heracles-san's house.

And then there he is. I didn't see the body at first, because it was just out of sight.

Denial. Outrage. Confusion. They all fight for domination in my mind. _This__ is __all __just __some__ sick __joke, __right?_

_"__Why?__" _ I do not realize that this last was spoken aloud until my ears register its echo. I trace the right side of his jaw line with my fingers, ending up with bloody streaks on the tips.

It's wrong. Blood has no place on Heracles-san's face. His face is perfect the way it is — was? — and I echo the question: "Why?" I place my left hand on his cheek, and am rewarded with bloodstreams on both of my hands.

* * *

><p>「黒い」 「くろい」 「kuroi」 「black」<p>

". . .Kiku." A breath. My heart almost stops.

Hearing his voice, however stunted it may be, snaps me out of my self-induced reverie. And the first thing I feel is relief. Rationally, my mind tells me that as a personified nation, Heracles-san cannot "die" in the sense that a normal human being can. Everything else was screaming that _he__ might __be __dead, __gone, __what __the __hell __are __you __waiting __for,__ he_ HAS _to __be __all __right.__.__._

I shake my head, clear it, _focus._ That's not important right now. Heracles-san. He needs immediate care. _But__ he__'__s _alive_.__.__._

Softly: "Kiku. . .I knew you'd come. . ." How long had he been trying to get my attention? _Hell__ knows __he__'__s __definitely __got __it __now._ I look down to find that his left hand is weakly clasping mine. _When __did __he__ do __that,_ I wonder, but then I catch sight of the partially healed cuts on his wrist and forearm.

_That__ explains __the__ blood. __Whoever __did __this __must __have__ cut __him, __then __waited__ for __them __to __heal, __then __cut __them__ open __again._

The dam almost breaks. Relief is nearly flooded over with by rage and hate. I rein it in. Just barely.

"Heracles-san, what happened?" I work to keep my voice even. Neither of us can afford to be excitable right now.

He shakes his head and winces.

* * *

><p>「苦しい」 「くるしい」 「kurushii」 「painful」<p>

"You can't tell me? Or won't?"

"It's. . .complicated." he manages to choke out before dissolving into another fit of wracking coughs, each time coughing up more blood. I support his weight with my own until it passes. Eventually, he subsides into silence again, and I resume tracing his face with my hands.

"You won't, then." It's not a question. _You __were __the __one__ who __taught __me __how __to__ open__ myself __up, __Heracles-san. __Why __aren__'__t __you __doing __so __now?_

He shakes his head again. "It's both."

_So __what __are __you __trying __to __tell __me? __That__ you__ can__'__t __because__ you __won__'__t? __Or__ you__ won__'__t __because__ you __can__'__t?_ I brush those thoughts away and say instead: "You need a doctor." But when I make as if to move away, Heracles-san's hand closes around mine with a strength that should be impossible, considering his condition.

"No," he says, quite succinctly.

"Heracles-san — "

"No. Kiku is staying." With these words, he seems to have exhausted his vitality for the moment, and it shows in the way he falls back against me.

* * *

><p>「侍」 「さむらい」 「samurai」 「one who serves」<p>

I sigh. _You__ need__ medical __attention __right__ now, __Heracles-san, __not __me._ But part of me is secretly glad that he wants me by his side right now. _How __many __years__ did __I __spend __in __isolation?_

_"__But __it__'__s __not __enough__ for __me __anymore, __now__ is __it?__" _

With this thought in mind, I sigh again, and arrange the two of us so that his head rests on my lap. "Is this fine, Heracles-san?"

The closest thing to this feeling back then, for me, was the loyalty that a samurai gave his lord. No matter what, a true samurai would serve his lord no matter who turned against them both. "Honor" and "duty" were worth everything, even death. . .

The Forty-Seven Ronin, 四十七士。 _"__I__ won__'__t __let __that__ happen __to __you, __Heracles-san.__"_ Regardless of whether he lives or not, I will have revenge. _"__No__ one__ touches __you __without__ my __permission.__"_ And I did not give it. Simmering beneath the surface, itching for the chance to unleash itself. . . _Not__ yet._

As if sensing my anger, he raises his head again, "Don't."

"What?"

* * *

><p>「寂しい」 「さみしい」 「samishii」 「lonely」<p>

"Don't do it. Kiku, I don't want you to go after the culprit."

My hands curl into fists. "And whatever gave you that idea?"

He ignores the anger in my tone. "Kiku, I want you to promise me. Even if I die, I want you to promise me."

_How__ can__ I __promise __you__ that?_ "Heracles-san, you look like hell frozen over and then warmed up. And you just want me to ignore that?" _Look__ at __yourself!_ _Do__ you __seriously __expect __me __to __do __nothing?_

"At least let me call you a doctor!" I plead. _Why__ hasn__'__t __his __body __healed __over __yet?_ He doesn't answer. Instead, he chooses to try and get up.

* * *

><p>「力」 「ちから」 「chikara」 「strength」<p>

My frustration turns to alarm. "Heracles-san—" _What__ the__ hell __is__ he __thinking?_ His balance is obviously unsteady, and I have to support most of his weight with my own. We stagger over to the bed like two drunk men. _This __would __actually__ be __quite __funny __if __the__ situation __wasn__'__t __so __dire.__.__._

His strength gives out just as we reach the edge of the bed, and he collapses onto it, me with him. _Come __to __think__ of __it, __I __don__'__t __understand __why __he __couldn__'__t __have __dragged__ himself __to __the __bed __before __this.__.__._ Surely a bed would be more comfortable than the floor. . . _unless__ he __was __bleeding__ so __severely__ that __he __couldn__'__t __even __get __up.__.__._ But as I was thinking this, I didn't notice that Heracles-san had fallen so I was atop him until I feel his arms wrap around my body.

My first reaction is to pull away. "Heracles-san, you'll open up the cuts—" But I stop when his embrace tightens.

"Kiku, please. You have to promise me." _Why __does __your __voice __sound__ so __desperate?_

_.__.__.And__ how__ can __I __say __no?_ "I promise," I say quietly. His grasp slackens, and he sighs. He whispers something, but I don't quite catch it. "What?"

Weakly, he repeats himself: "I said, now I can die happy."

"Heracles-san, _you __are __not __going__ to __die._" My voice almost cracks, but I manage somehow to hold firm. "I won't let you."

* * *

><p>「お願いします」 「おねがいします」 「onegaishimasu」 「please」<p>

He cracks a small smile for the first time since I entered this hellish room. "Kiku, can I have a kiss?"

This startles me. "Why. . .?"

"Because it'll make me feel better." He manages a feeble pout, and for him in his condition, it's not much work to make it convincing.

A tingly warmth pools in the center of my abdomen as I slowly stretch myself up to reach his face. I hesitate, then carefully brush my lips against his. But then a fierce hunger overtakes me, and I lean into the kiss, making it deeper. Dimly, I feel Heracles-san mouthing something, and then there is no more.

I stop. "Heracles-san?" No answer. I frantically scramble up and check for a pulse, a hint of breath, _anything._ But there isn't anything left.

_Nothing left but. . ._

* * *

><p>「笑顔」 「えがお」 「egao」 「a smile」<p>

My vision blurs as the tears start. "Why are you smiling?" _Why__ are __you __smiling__ now __that __I __cannot?_ My hands automatically reach for his face, his hair, his still-warm lips. Eyes closed, lips quirked in a small grin. Everything else that I didn't see until it was too late.

_"__Don__'__t__ do __this __to __me.__.__.__"_ It resounds through the room, to the deep downs.

I don't know how long I stayed like this, on the verge of insanity, somewhere in the abyss of despair and denial. All I know is that I came to, and I was numb. I didn't want to feel anything anymore; I knew that if I tried I would just break.

_「もう__,__いちどだけ__.__.__.__」__ "__M__ō, __ichido __dake.__.__.__"_

Where do nations go when they die? I don't know.

But wherever you are now, Heracles-san, is somewhere I cannot follow you. A grim realization, with what I now must do.

_すみません__.__.__.__ Sumimasen.__.__._ I cannot keep my promise. I'll revenge your death, and then kill myself.

Decided now, I make my way to the bathroom adjoining this room. I must first clean up and go looking for Heracles-san's killer.

_ "It's a selfish wish, isn't it?"_

The voice comes out of nowhere, mocking, stopping, and damning me, all in one. But I don't really care anymore. "Who the hell are you?" I say tersely.

_"__Actually,__ '_what_ the __hell __are __you__' __might __be __more __accurate,__ but__ '_who_' __will __work__ fine.__" _A momentary pause, and then it laughs. _"__Take__ a __look __in __the __bathroom__ and __you__'__ll __figure __it __out,__ I__'__m __sure.__.__.__"_ The voice fades out with another chuckle.

"What the _hell_ does it mean by—" I stop when I enter, and pull back the bloodstained shower curtain. And it all makes sense now.

* * *

><p>「中」 「なか」 「naka」 「inside」<p>

A blade winks back at me, glinting in sunlight dimmed, seemingly pristine against its backdrop of pooled and washed away blood. Dazedly, I reach for the hilt, and as it slips into my grasp, it's disturbingly familiar and repulsive, all at once. The _katana_ that at war's end was taken, and shut away. . .

_"__.__.__.is __now,__ once __again, __in __its __rightful __master__'__s __hand.__"_ My gaze shoots up to meet the apparition in the mirror. Reflected, a pale, blood-spattered man clutching a sword, as well as. . .

_"__You.__"_ There is no emotion in my voice. _"_You_ did __this.__"_

_"__No,__ not __me. __Or __didn__'__t __you __remember?__"_ The black-clad "empire" smiles gruesomely back at me. _"__I _am _you.__"_ It croons in a voice that is bitter and sweetly seductive, _"__I__ am __you, __you __are __me, __we__'__re __the __same,__ parts __of __a__ whole, __two__ in__ one.__.__. you __can__'__t __honestly __tell __me__ that__ you __didn__'__t __enjoy __the __conquest, __having __all __of __that _power. . ._having_ them_ bow __before __you, __at __last.__.__.__"_

"STOP IT!" The _katana_ clatters to the darkened tile. My hands fly to cover my ears, but they can't shut out the truth, the ugly, tainted, beautiful truth.

* * *

><p>「地獄」 「じごく」 「jigoku」 「hell」<p>

_"__You __can__'__t __hide __the __truth, __not__ from __me, __not __from __anyone, __not __anymore.__ You __can__'__t __hide__ from __yourself.__.__. somewhere,__ deep __down __inside, __we __both __know __you__ were __fully __capable__ of __doing__ it.__"_ He presses in, closer, and closer, and whispers: _"__All __it __took __was __a __little _push_.__.__.__"_

A garbled noise, and I collapse, shaking. _That__'__s__ why. __That__'__s__ why__ he__ made __me __promise. __Why? _I tremble even more. _I__ don__'__t __understand. __Heracles-san,__ how __could __you __still __do __that __for __me?_

_"__And __that__'__s__ not __even__ the __best __part,__ you __know.__" _He slips from the mirror and raises a gloved hand to my lips, stained with Heracles-san's blood — in more ways than one. He smiles. _"__Would__ you __like __to __know__ his __last __words?__"_

If everything was numb before, now it feels like everything is shattering into glass, reverting to grains of sand, then crumbling finally into nonexistence as he whispers two words into my ear.

_「あいしてる、__ごめんなさい。」_ _"__Aishiteru,__ gomennasai.__"_

And now I cannot stop the tears anymore, as I seize the _katana_ and somehow make my way back out to him. His face is blurred — I lean down and kiss him one last time.

_"__What__ are __you __doing? __You__—" _I smile, a grin loaded with irony, as his tone finally registers something other than smug fact. Like relentless raindrops, I drop my last words:

" 'Pride goeth before a fall.' " And then, softer: _"__There __can __be __no __honorable __death __for __this __son__ of __Bushido.__"_ We plunge the blade down, down. I fall on Heracles-san, and it's hot, and cold, and as my world is painted in darkness, we have but one last thought:

"_A double sin — suicide and murder. Do I even have a soul to go to purgatory?"_

* * *

><p>— [Heracles] —<p>

* * *

><p>「風」 「かぜ」 「kaze」 「a wind」<p>

Soft breaths, the quiet, contented sigh of the wind's solitary dance, wrapped in the murmurings of the rain against the roof. I guess I should consider this weather strange — it _is_ summer, after all — but as long as Kiku's here, I can quite honestly say that I really don't give a damn. _Besides,__ the __rain __feels __kinda__ nice.__.__. as __long __as __I __can __stay __inside, __where __it__'__s __dry._

It reminds me of the first time that Kiku saw me with wet hair. _Damn__ the__ rain, __it __always __makes__ my __hair __look__ like __hell._ He was vastly amused.

_Kiku __tries __to __hold__ in __laughter, __but __evidently __fails.__ "__Heracles-san,__ what __happened __to __you?__" __he __gets __out, __as __he __attempts __to __hide __his __amusement __behind__ a__ sleeve._

_ I aim a mostly half-assed glare at the small Japanese, not cracking a grin. It had been quite a day so far; I had to track one of my cats down, then I ran into that bastard Turkey, and then, of course, it had to go and rain. Goddammit, I hate the rain. . ._

Sorry, God.

_ But seriously, who the hell would want their good friend — or maybe something more? — to see them looking like hell? There really was no better way to put it. I shake the wet strands out of my face, accidentally splashing Kiku by accident._

_He__ laughs __again,__ and__ his__ slightly__ flushed, __smiling __face __makes __me __want __to __kiss __him__ — __momentarily. __Kiku __comes __up__ to __me __on __tiptoe, __placing__ a __dry __towel __on __my __head._

_ "I think you'll find this more effective, Heracles-san." Another quiet laugh. . ._

* * *

><p>「夜」 「よる」 「yoru」 「night」<p>

That's pretty much the only thing I really could live without about my appearance. Granted, it doesn't really rain much here in my country, in comparison to others, but when it does, my hair gets frizzy. Not exactly the "casually-sexy-I-don't-care-what-I-look-like-in-the-morning" style that, as Greece, the other nations seem to expect from me. Except for Kiku.

Kiku thinks my hair is interesting. Given how I've known him to do some rather, shall we say, _arousing_ things with my hair, it's not unexpected, I guess.

_Speaking of Kiku. . ._

I look over from my book to the petite beauty sleeping soundly next to me. _It__ sounds__ clichéd, __true, __but __I __can__'__t __help __it __if __it__'__s __the __truth._ Kiku _is_ beautiful, no matter how much he might try to deny it, insisting that surely there are others that are better. _But __it__'__s __cute, __how__ he__ always __denies __it._ Maybe it's strange to call a man "beautiful," but again, since it's Kiku I'm talking about, I don't care if it is.

I've always found the night interesting. Most go to sleep, or lie low until it's time again to wake, and go about their daily routine. But cats don't. They're nocturnal creatures. _Just __one __more__ reason__ to__ like __them.__.__._

Even now, they're almost all out prowling, so hardly any are left in the house. I know that they'll be back in the morning, though, sprawled sleepily in the early sunshine. This makes night a good time for thinking. Not only about me and Kiku, but other things, too.

_Like. . ._

* * *

><p>「月」 「つき」 「tsuki」 「the moon」<p>

I glance over at Kiku, and my heart always seems to melt. _Is__ this __what __all __nations __look __like__ when __they __sleep?_ Like they're at peace, and they can forget the years piling on their shoulders? _Like __small __children, __without __a__ care __in __the__ world?_ We're none of us very young — not even America — but for some reason, a nation's appearance is always that of a young man or woman in their prime when full-grown.

_ It__'__s __just __too__ bad __that __there__ were __no__ such __things __as __cameras __when __Kiku __was __still __small._ I would've liked to see Kiku act like a child, just once. But he's older than me, so what can I do? _What __can__ I__ say?__ I __like __Kiku __the __way__ he __is. _With his very adult body, and adult ways. . . _Wandering,__ wandering.__.__._

_Ahem._ I once again harness my drifting gaze, bringing it back to Kiku's face. I idly note that a small lock of hair has fallen into Kiku's eyes. _His __hair __is __getting __long __again, _I think as I place my book down and reach a hand to smooth it into place. As I do, he smiles that beautiful, soft smile in his sleep, and shifts lightly on the futon. Tempted, my hand trails down Kiku's neck, shoulder, arm. . . until I find Kiku's hand and slip mine into his.

Here, in this intriguing shadowplay of moonbeams and lamplight, Kiku brings to mind the moon god Tsukuyomi, or perhaps Artemis. Pale skin, dark hair, clad in a thin, pale blue yukata. . .that feeling of "otherworldly." _In __this __illumination, __it __almost__ looks __like __he__'__s __wearing __nothing __at __all.__.__._

Damn it. I resolutely turn my attention back to my book, hand still clasping Kiku's. Kiku needs his sleep now, perhaps more than ever, with the aftereffects of that earthquake still fresh in his bones. _Doesn__'__t__ stop __him __from __enjoying__ himself,__ though.__.__._ I stare more intently at my book, but even the book reminds me of Kiku — it's a manga series that he recommended. It's pretty addicting, and I can't stop reading it. _It__'__s __a __good__ thing __Kiku __has __the __entire __series __already.__.__._

* * *

><p>「眠る」 「ねむる」 「nemuru」 「sleep」<p>

The shadows beckon me to sleep, as I close the final volume. I place it in the pile next to the lamp, and then turn off the light. The rain's dance stopped a while ago, and Notus no longer whispers so loudly in my ears.

I sigh, and settle down on the futon, nestling as near to Kiku as I dare. Tomorrow morning might be warm, and I don't want to make him sick. His theory is that I give off a lot of heat, so that's why my cats like to sleep near me. _He__'__s __probably __right, __to __a__ certain __degree.__.__. some__ of __the__ cats __came__ back __and __are __gathered __around._

_On __second__ thought, __it __was __cooler __earlier, __so.__.__. _Cautiously, I inch an arm around Kiku's waist and the other around his shoulders. Next, I shift my weight so that the rest of my body curls around his in a protective embrace. Then, of course, I freeze as Kiku shifts in his sleep — _towards __me __ — _and murmurs something under his breath. _.__.__.Is__ he __still __sleeping?_ Soft, even breaths assure me that he is.

Before succumbing to Hypnos, my last thought before he carries me off to sleep is: _Iris __will __be __busy __tomorrow.__.__._

* * *

><p>「何処」 「どこ」 「doko」 「where」<p>

At first, I'm in a dark, pitch-black tunnel, and I think, _is __this__ what __Hades__ feels __like?_ But no, as my eyes adjust to the shadows, they catch sight of a gradual gradient of light. I follow it, slowly placing one foot in front of the other, until I come to the end. It's a door frame, and it flickers and snaps, like old, fuzzy static if I try to look through it too long, so to save my eyes the trouble, I step through it.

I'm enveloped in a warm, white light, and when I emerge from it, I see a place that I recognize immediately — Kiku's house. I smile, and start walking around. _If __this __is __Kiku__'__s __house, __then __where __is __Kiku?_ I've been here so many times already, I could almost walk it with eyes closed.

The first room I look into is the kitchen. Often, Kiku is to be found there, cooking something delicious, or maybe at the table, eyebrows furrowed while working over some paperwork, reading glasses almost slipping off the edge of his nose. I poke my head inside the doorway and see the washed dishes piled neatly in the rack, and at the cleared counter, magazines and newspaper articles carefully piled. No Kiku.

I then look into Kiku's bedroom — sometimes he's sprawled out on his futon, laptop booted up and combing the forums. It's strange; his futon is not folded and put away like he usually does after he wakes, but unfurled, and slightly disturbed, as if he just woke up. Other than that, I find a disheveled pile of clothes, but no Kiku.

Next is his manga library — it takes up a whole floor by itself. Any self-respecting otaku would probably take one look at it and spontaneously burst into tears of happiness. But even searching behind all of the bookshelves doesn't yield a sleeping Kiku, dropped into a nap by reading too long.

So repeats the pattern with the rest of the house. I'm getting confused; _where__ is __he?_ I don't think he went out, did he? Or maybe he did and he'll be back late, that would explain why the light seems to darken whenever I open another door.

Therefore, with no other recourse, I retreat back to Kiku's living room, and decide to take a nap while I wait for him to come home. _I__ wonder __how __long __it__'__s __gonna __take __him?_

* * *

><p>「声」 「こえ」 「koe」 「a voice」<p>

I wake up to the sound of a door unlocking, and raised voices. I sit up slowly, un-kinking my neck and back muscles, and listen for a little bit — is that China? And Kiku, that's definitely Kiku. I would recognize Kiku's voice anywhere. _Wait,__ what __was __that __China __just __said?_

" — can't expect the rest of us to just stand by when you're overreacting like this, aru! We're all worried about you! Even America's noticed, and you _know_ how dense he is!"

"I am not 'overreacting,' nii-san! I'm not a child any more — I'm a fully grown adult! I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions."

"Decisions? Decisions about _what_, aru? There's no going around it any more, _xiǎo __dìdì_, the fact is, he's gone, and he's not coming back!"

That stops Kiku in his tracks, and I can't see his face, but I can hear heavy breathing. _What__ the __hell __are __they __talking __about__ to __get __the __both__ of __them__ so __worked __up?_

The silence is broken first, by China, sounding weary and old for the first time — "Don't do this to us, aru. Everyone's worried, Yong-Soo, Taiwan, Vietnam, even Xiang said that they were! Other countries have asked me to talk to you, aru."

"Why? Because you've known me the longest?" Kiku sighs; there's no bite to his remark, he just sounds tired.

"Because I'm the oldest, aru. Everyone else has been walking on eggshells around you!" He drops his voice — "You can't do this forever, just sitting around waiting for him, aru! No one comes back once they're dead, not even us nations."

"He's right, you know." _Is__ that __South __Korea?_ "Yao-hyung told me that you were waiting at his house for him to come back."

"When did you get here, aru — " Angrily: "Yao-niisan, what else did you — "

Korea interrupts them to answer, "About the same time as these two." _I __can__'__t __see __it, __but__ I __can __picture __him__ nodding __at __the __others __behind __him._

"Kiku. Please. Just think about this logically for a bit." _Taiwan__'__s __here __too?_ "Thailand, Tibet and Vietnam asked me to give these to you."

"I. . .I need to be alone right now." Three different voices start to say something at once, but are then cut off by Kiku's next word. _「おねがい。」__ "__Onegai.__"_ If I weren't listening closely, I wouldn't have heard the break in his voice.

Another pregnant pause, and then the sounds of a door clicking shut. China is the last to leave, murmuring, "We'll come back to check on you later, aru" before shutting the door behind him as well.

* * *

><p>「影絵」 「かげえ」 「kage e」 「silhouette」<p>

A heartbeat of silence, and Kiku is literally _running_ through his house, down the hall, unceremoniously dumping his bag and coat on the floor as he does. I don't bother calling after him, because I don't think he'd hear me. Instead, I follow him.

Kiku hightails it to his bedroom, stripping out of his clothes so fast that it would've turned anyone on — present company included — and grabs a clean yukata, shutting himself in his bathroom. I hear water running, so I just stretch out beside Kiku's futon to wait him out. _He__ shouldn__'__t __be __that__ long._

As I do, my head resting on my forearms, I can just smell Kiku on the futon, the sharp, barely-there scent of shoyu, something greenly fresh, and handmade soap. It just seems so _him,_ somehow, that I end up drinking in the scent, wanting to take it away with me, that I end up getting lost in it, and falling again.

I drift back to consciousness, and glance at the clock. _Oh__ shi__ — __seriously?_ It's been about an hour, and I peer at the bathroom door. Kiku's still in there, and I can almost feel the steam emitting from under the door. I amble over to the door and knock on the door. "Kiku?" The water stops for a bit, but then continues. I amble back to my spot by the futon, and wait.

After about fifteen minutes or so, Kiku finally emerges from the bath, skin scrubbed to a healthy pink. The first thing he does is move right past me and gingerly collect the clothes that he so frantically shed. "Japan?" He doesn't answer me, but instead exits the room, clothes in hand, presumably to put them in the wash.

The soft rushes of the tatami herald his return from his self-imposed errand, and once again, I call his name, but he doesn't answer me. He plops down ungraciously on the futon, and stares at the ceiling.

_"__Wakarimasen.__"_ The phrase pops into my head unbidden, as I watch Kiku display absolutely _no_ outward signs at all that he realizes that I am here. It sums it up perfectly — "I don't understand."

I try again: "Kiku?" No answer. Tentatively, I reach out a hand, and gently brush his hair. At that simple touch, Kiku flinches, and looks around wildly. Once or twice, his gaze passes straight through mine, but he's not aware that I'm looking straight at him. _At__ the __fear __and__ suspicion __in __those __eyes._

This hurts. It's like a dagger straight to the heart, then twisted in on itself. Kiku has never looked at me like that before, not even back then. _But__ why__ does __it __hurt__ so __much?_ "Kiku, why can't you see me?"

And then it hits me.

_Oh__ God.__.__._ China's words echo back to me: _"__No __one __comes__ back __once __they__'__re __dead, __not __even __us __nations.__"_ Was that. . ._me_ he was talking about? _That__'__s __why__ Kiku __can__'__t __hear __me._ _Nothing__ else __makes __sense._ Struck cold by this realization, I sit back down, and wait with Kiku, until the sun's rays are no more.

I think Kiku fell asleep a while ago. I can kinda make out the rising of his chest in this dim twilight, and it is only now that I dare to move. Carefully at first, but then it doesn't matter when I find that shifting my muscles, I have no cramps or cricks. _Nice__ part __of __being __dead, __I__ guess__ — __can__'__t__ have __bodily __problems __when __you __technically __don__'__t __have __a __body__ any__more._ It's dark now, and the only discernible presences in the room are Kiku's sleeping silhouette, and myself.

* * *

><p>「歌」 「うた」 「uta」 「a song」<p>

The first thing I do is move — drift? float? — over to where Kiku is sleeping, and peer at his face. Kiku doesn't seem like a child in this slumber, but rather a world-weary old man who's lived too many years for his liking. This thought makes me smile mournfully. _Haven__'__t __we __all?_ Carefully, I place a hand on his hair, and stroke it, much as I did earlier. He shifts a little, and murmurs: "Heracles-san", but doesn't wake. Emboldened, I run my hand once again through his bangs, and move down to caress his cheek. A soft sigh — it's barely an exhalation — and he doesn't move. So, I take the plunge. . .by dipping my head low, hesitating, then lightly kissing his slightly parted lips.

_That_ gets a reaction out of Kiku. I've never seen him wake up so quickly, or violently. He jerks up, and I start to pull away, until I remember that _oh__ yeah,__ Kiku __can__'__t __see __me._ Eyes wild, hair falling in his eyes, everything else askew. He pauses, on edge, and says cautiously, "Heracles-san?"

My heart leaps. "Kiku, it's me!" I reach for his hand, but desist when I hear Kiku's next question. "Are you there?" Kiku's protective stance slackens, until he crumples to the floor. "Answer me. . .please." He reaches out a hand, grasping at air, at a spirit, at nothing. And I can't do anything but watch him. All I can do is wait as Kiku looks out into what he sees as empty space.

Abruptly, Kiku turns to the side, and picks his laptop up. He powers it on, waiting while the desktop loads, and clicks on his Internet icon. Nonplussed, I watch as Kiku logs in to NicoNicoDouga. _Music? __I__ guess __it__'__s __better __than __seeing __that __expression __of __despair __on __his __face._ All the while through this, Kiku's face is filled with determination and a bit of expectation. He clicks on a video, and listens to it in silence, headphones on. I watch over his shoulder, close enough to touch him, but too far away not to.

Watching the accompanying video, I'm still confused. The song lyrics are in kanji, so I can't understand what's being sung, or hear it, for that matter, but Kiku's eyes are intent on the lyrics. As the song progresses, he starts to hum along, and then softly sings the lyrics. This startles me — I can't ever remember hearing Kiku sing before, and I don't believe any of the other countries have, either. Kiku's singing voice is low, and melty, and it sounds all the more beautiful because he's singing in his native language. I sit behind him spellbound, content merely to listen:

_.__.__.Hiru __to __yoru __ga __k__ōsa __suru__ chiten_

_Dare ka ni aitakute aenakute_

"_Watashi no namae wa nan desu ka?"_

_Juu moji inai de oshiete_

_Uso __to __hont__ō __ga __kōsa __suru __chiten_

_Kokyuu __ga __tomari __s__ōna __heisokukan_

"_Watashi__ wa__ d__ōshite __ikite __iru __no?__"_

_Hyaku moji inai de oshiete_

_Suki, __kirai, __suki, __kirai__ — __no __kurikaeshi __de_

_Tsukare__ kitta __ai __wa __m__ō__ iranai_

Kiku's voice almost breaks again, but he continues, even more strongly than before, and the increasing feeling he's putting into the song's words makes the skin on the back of my neck tingle. I don't know whether he's aware of it, but his voice is slowly increasing in volume as he sings.

_Jikan dake itsumo toori sugite iku_

_Ichi __by__ō __koto __ni __kuzurete __iku __sekai_

_Yukanda keshiki ni nuri tsubasareta_

_Kotae wa iranai, itsuwari de ii no_

_Jibun __dake__ dokoka __torinoko __sareta_

_Iro no nai sekai yume ni mita sekai _

_Itanda kanjitsu wo suteru koto sura_

_Hitori ja dekinai soba ni ite hoshikute. . ._

* * *

><p>「嫌い」 「きらい」 「kirai」 「hate」<p>

With that, the song seemingly ends, because Kiku takes off the headphones and sits in darkness, idle hands clutching the 'phones in his lap. I ease closer, and discover that his shoulders are shaking, hands trembling. _Even__ here, __in __your __own__ house, __you__ feel __like __you __have __to __cry __in __silence? __Kiku.__.__._

"Όχι, αγαπητέ μου." _Óchi,__ agapi̱té__ mou._ I don't know why I bother to say it aloud; even if Kiku could hear me, I'm not sure if he'd understand what I said. But I have to say it, even it's only so I can feel like I can comfort Kiku, even a bit. _No,__ my __dear._ Kiku shouldn't have to feel like he has to hide his tears. I sidle closer to Kiku, close enough to touch him.

And suddenly, I'm angry, and full of bitter self-loathing. _Why__ did __I __die?_ Why should Kiku have to cry by himself? _Why __did__ I __leave __him __alone?_ Why? It's an internal scream, a blur, a wave, wiping out everything else, why? My vision shimmers, and it's a crescendo fading out, but everything stops when:

_"__Why?__"_ Head tipped downward, he chokes. "Why did You take him from me?" Hands covering his face, streaked with drops, hair falling forward, it's a call I can't help but answer. Pale fingers clutch at black hair, and struggling to understand, he asks us the impossible. "Just once more. I wanted to tell him just once before he leaves me." Kiku shakes, more tears dropping. _"__Σ__'αγαπώ.__ Σ__'αγαπώ. __Σ__'αγαπώ.__"_ _"__S__'agapó, __s__'agapó, __s__'agapó.__"_

* * *

><p>「抱きしめて」 「だきしめて」 「dakishimete」 「hold me」<p>

I don't know why, but I somehow find myself holding Kiku tightly, like I never want to let go, not even to let him breathe. I'm not sure whether it's because I'm dumb that way or not, but it's easier to express my love for him through a touch, instead of words. _Kiku__ can__'__t __hear __me._ Words get in my way, they trip me and maybe I don't know what I wanted to say. _He__ can__'__t __see __me, __but __can__ he __feel __me?_

"Heracles. . .san." It's a breath of fresh air, when he says my name. "I knew it; I knew that was you," he smiles through the tears. "I knew you wouldn't leave without telling me good-bye." Somehow, some way, his hands snake around my waist, holding my body as closely as I'm holding his. In silent assent, we tip our heads to each other, lips meeting, and just barely touching before my world explodes in the sensation of _us,_ together forever, _this __red__ thread._ But all too soon, we're wrenched apart, and I don't want to let you go, screaming your name, over and over, holding it close to try and stop this everlasting fall. . .

I bolt upwards in damp, clingy bedding, panicking, looking everywhere, _where__'__s__ Kiku?_ For about three seconds, I don't know where I am, or if I'm even awake, until I catch sight of the shadowed moonlight playing on the walls and window. _Ah. __It __was __just __a __dream.__.__._ I lie back down, and realize that my arms were still wrapped around Kiku when I woke up. Kiku's still sleeping, but I hear a soft "Nnnn. . ." as he shifts his weight again, still within our embrace.

Shakily, I edge myself closer to him, wanting to reaffirm his presence. _He__'__s__ here, __he__'__s __next __to __me, __he__'__s __not __going __away._ All of the countries' bosses have eased up on the reins a bit lately, it seems; all of us "nations" want to spend more time together, groups and couples both.

_They __can__'__t __keep __us __away __from __each __other, __even__ if __they __wanted __to. __We __always __find__ a __way.__.__._ After all, what are they going to do? Threaten to isolate us? To kill us? Nobody really knows how to kill a personified nation. When our countries die, we die. That's all anyone really knows, in the end. Or empires. Those are really the only "deaths" that we can confirm — like Ancient Rome. _The__ Holy __Roman __Empire__'__s __fate __is __still __open__ to __discussion, __though._

But, all this rationalizing doesn't stop my mind from going back to it.

* * *

><p>「夢」 「ゆめ」 「yume」 「a dream」<p>

_Kiku._ The chain of events in the dream — nightmare — play themselves over and over again in my memory, giving me no respite when I try to sleep. _It__'__s __so __real, __I __almost __thought __that __I __would __never __see __Kiku__ again._ Dreams are ironic, aren't they, Kiku? But I read somewhere that if you don't write down a dream within five minutes from dreaming it, it's likely that you'll forget it. I don't often dream so vividly, so I guess I should write it down.

Reluctantly, I let go of Kiku's small frame, and get out of bed. Carefully, I start tucking in the blanket more securely around Kiku, then reach for paper and a pen. Oddly, the details are still seared clearly into my mind's eye, and it doesn't take long for my pen to start racing across the paper. I don't even bother to turn on the light so I can see — there's still enough illumination from the moon to write by.

It's almost too much, it feels like my hand can't keep up with my mind. What happened in my dream, I write, even things I don't remember noticing at the time. It fills the spaces between the lines, even the margins. My handwriting starts to seem cramped, even after I flip the paper over to write on the other side. _Will__ this __even __make__ sense__ when __I __read __it __over__ later?_ The thought lurks somewhere at the back of my mind, but the rest of my brain is focused on the task at hand.

So focused, it seems, that when I climb back onto the futon and under the blanket, I almost don't notice anything wrong. But after I reread my recollection again, I see a slight movement on the edge of my peripheral vision. Putting down my paper, I look closer, and frown. _Is__ Kiku.__.__. fidgeting__ in __his __sleep? __No. __It __looks __more __like.__.__._

_.__.__.like __the __Kiku __in __my __dream, __shaking __with __tears._ It's an uncanny echo of my nightmare. Normally, if I saw Kiku like this, I might assume that he was cold, or not feeling well, which _does_ make sense, but after that dream. . .

* * *

><p>「君の手」 「きみのて」 「kimi no te」 「your hand」<p>

Maybe I'm being paranoid, but that dream shook me to the core. I don't want to take chances, especially if it's got anything to do with my Kiku.

Gently, oh so gently, I pull him over to my side of the bedding, closer to me. This now accomplished, I reach for his hand and grip it softly, but firmly. _So __maybe __he __can __feel __it __in __his __dream.__.__.?_ Kiku's hand feels cool in comparison to mine, and I add my other hand to my grip. Slowly, I can feel my body heat being transferred over to him. But it's a gradual change, and I don't know how long I'll stay like this.

Holding Kiku's hand helps calm me, and centers me in a fashion that my frantic, earlier writing didn't. It affirms his existence, and that this isn't some delusion that I cooked up in a fit of boredom or insanity. I can feel the flowing rush of his pulse, and it's like a soothing lullaby.

Something's wrong. Kiku's mumbling things under his breath, things I can't hear or don't understand. I lean in close, to his lips, but I can't tell if it's gibberish or actual words he's forming, because it sounds like Japanese. And I'm not yet fluent enough in his language to be sure of any interpretation I come up with.

Maybe I should try to wake him up? I shake Kiku's shoulder gently, calling his name, but it's like my dream come alive, Kiku can't hear me and doesn't answer. His mumblings are louder, more vocal now, and I can't understand what he wants to say, because it _is_ in Japanese, just like I thought. All I can tell is that it sounds like he's talking to someone else. I'm starting to get scared.

Then he starts to thrash around. That settles it. He _must_ be having a bad dream, and I have to wake him up. But how am I supposed to do that when he won't stop moving, and can't hear me? _Improvisation._

Quickly, I trap his wrists, then his legs. He still won't stop moving, and I can't help but wonder what he's dreaming about. Not knowing what else to do, I settle on a hastily made plan.

Shaking my head, I lean over, time it, time it right. . ._now._ I catch his bottom lip in a kiss, extending it to his other lip, muffling the words I heard coming from somewhere in his consciousness. Abruptly, he stops all movement, and it's only then that I break the kiss, looking down into his face, searching for the Kiku I know and need returned.

* * *

><p>「今すぐ」 「いますぐ」 「ima sugu」 「at this moment」<p>

I turn away from Kiku, taking this lull in atmosphere as a chance to straighten our surroundings out — the blanket was tossed to the side in the struggle, and the futon was messed up. Kiku doesn't object to my administrations as I lift him to the side to straighten the futon, or even when I pick him up and place him back on it. He doesn't say anything when I spread the blanket back over the two of us, either.

Through all that, all Kiku did was stare at me. _OK,__ maybe __I__ did __kinda __molest __him __in __his __sleep, __but __I __don__'__t __think __it __was__ that __strange, __was __it?_ But no, I turn towards Kiku, and he's looking at me like he doesn't know who the hell I am. _Like__ I__'__m __a__ complete __stranger._ Just how the dream-Kiku did when he couldn't see me. But in this Kiku's eyes, there isn't anything in them. No fear, no suspicion. It's like Kiku reverted to his "country" side, and he's hiding behind it, like he used to.

I lie down again, and my rational side begins to think: did Kiku hit his head when he was struggling in his sleep? I don't think he did, and furthermore, he couldn't have hit it that hard, because the futon and pillows were between him and the floor. So, what happened to him between then —

—. . . and now? My mind is unexpectedly distracted by Kiku leaning over me, staring at my face. I start to sit up, but am halted by Kiku's hands. One hand is entangled in the hair rimming the left side of my face, while the other is running itself through the hair behind my right ear. "Kiku?"

* * *

><p>「心」 「こころ」 「kokoro」 「heart」<p>

He makes no reply, but his hands drift to my face, running over my cheekbones, my lower jaw, even my lips. These caresses make my skin prickle — I can feel the ghostly trails of his fingertips even after they leave. All the while, Kiku's eyes are fixed steadily on me, still showing no hint of recognition. _But__ his __touch __is __a __lover__'__s __touch.__.__._ "Kiku." He still doesn't answer me, and his hands drop to my neck, stroking the carotid artery.

Kiku's not being responsive, so my gaze is otherwise occupied. . .with admiring him. _Every__ once __in __a __while, __it__'__s __nice __to __be __able __to__ stare __at __him __as __long __as __I __want.__.__._ And can I really help it if I'm enjoying what I see? No, really — even more so than usual. I guess that during Kiku's thrashing, his yukata was loosened, so much that one of his sleeves is hanging off his shoulder, and his obi is barely tied. Also, for some reason, his face is flushed very slightly, and his breathing is slightly accelerated. _This__ would__ be __really __rather __sexual.__.__. if __he __had __any __kind__ of __emotion __in __his __eyes._

"Kiku." My hand floats up to touch his face, and smooth his tousled hair. With that caress, something _clicks_ somewhere in his eyes, and he looks at me with new eyes. If I had to pick a word to describe them, it would be "startled." But it's soon followed by a very familiar expression, one I've seen many times on his face — _determination._

By this time, Kiku's hands had already drifted to my chest, but now, I find myself pushed _down_ onto the futon as Kiku sits up and straddles me. Normally, this would mean an assertive Kiku, which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, except for what he does next. He starts to unbutton my shirt, fumbling with them at first, then all but ripping them off when they don't come off on the first try.

His actions don't communicate anything to me but desperation. _For__ what?_ I try to catch his gaze, but he's too focused on my shirt. But he's done with the buttons now, and the first thing he does is put his head down, ear squarely over my heart.

_ Oh.__ Is __that __all __it __was?_ He just wanted to hear my heartbeat? But. . .why? I start to ask him, but he pulls himself away far too quickly.

* * *

><p>「二人」 「ふたり」 「futari」 「two」<p>

My arms are empty now; Kiku has retreated to the far edge of the futon. I sit up, still clad in the ruined shirt, and look at the portion of his back that he's turned on me. The only reason I was wearing this shirt in the first place was because Kiku made me.

_"__Heracles-san,__" __Kiku__ says __softly.__ "__Is__ that __all __you__'__re __wearing__ to __go__ to__ sleep __tonight?__"_

_ I look over at him, and shrug. "Maybe. I don't know." At the moment, I'm shirtless so I can better enjoy the cool breeze wafting through the window. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Kiku get up and go into my closet. He comes back out, holding a shirt in his hands, and drapes it over my shoulders._

_ Trailing a hand down my ribs, he whispers in my ear: "As nice as your body is, Heracles-san, it would be a waste for you to catch a cold." Leaning over, he brushes my cheek lightly with his lips before going back to the futon._

I look down at the shirt that he picked out for me. It's a thin, long-sleeved off-white shirt. _If __I __remember __correctly, __this __is __one__ that __he__ gave __to __me.__.__._ I can feel a breeze blowing still air on my chest, and around the two of us, but I don't like the silence that it swirls through the room.

I move first, over to Kiku, around the corner of the bedding, till I'm right in front of Kiku. He's hunched over, hair falling forward, hiding his face behind his hands. _How __the __hell __am__ I __supposed __to __resolve __this?_ "Kiku. What happened?"

* * *

><p>— 「きく」— (Kiku) —<p>

* * *

><p>「繰り返して」 「くりかえして」 「kurikaeshite」 「repeat」<p>

He asks me something, but my mind is too full of that dream to comprehend. I shake my head, still keeping my face in my hands. _What __just __happened? __And__ what __did __I __just __do?_

_"__It__ was __just __a __dream__"__.__.__._

I keep pounding the words into my head, repeating them over and over. _It__ was __just __a __dream, __Heracles-san __is __fine, __he__'__s _right here_._ But I couldn't make myself believe it. When I woke up, I was totally disoriented, and then I saw his eyes. Vivid green, tinted with shades of a not-quite-there blue, like beach-glass worn smooth by the water's pulse. He stares at me, _inside_ me, and he's looking at me like he's never seen me before.

_ "But what if this really is the dream, and I really did kill him? Wouldn't it be the perfect punishment to trick me into thinking this is real, and bringing me back, having to relive it again, and again?"_

I don't know if I could live through that. My hands floated upwards, to run through his hair, reacquainting myself with its familiar texture. It's almost like that time, again, and his lips move, but I don't hear what he said. Entranced, my fingers explored his face, stroked his cheekbones, admired his lips.

_ "If this is real, then I should be able to hear his heartbeat. . ."_

I dropped my hands to his neck, and rediscover the hollows and swells of his flesh. I touched the flow of his lifeblood, and I felt it reverberate through my fingertips. _It__'__s__ not __enough._ Desperately, I sat up, pushing him down as I did so. Bending over him, attempted to undo the buttons on his shirt, but they didn't cooperate, so I clawed them off, making my way down; down to the bottom, until they're all gone. This accomplished, head resting on his chest. _His __heart._ I heard it — the rush of the ocean upon the coast, a wave of rhythm. I feel it again, that tingly feeling that I get when we touch.

_"__This__ is __real.__.__.__"_ Having proved to myself that this isn't a dream, I pulled away.

And so, I return to this point in time, now _very_ embarrassed at what I just did. _He__ must __think__ I__'__m __crazy.__.__._ but I want to touch him again. Somewhere in the background, he sighs, and my chin tips upward, so I'm looking straight at him again. But this time, I see flickers of worry, and uncertainty.

"Kiku." his voice softly enunciates my name. "What happened?"

I don't answer, and shake my head again. What am I supposed to say? _"__It__'__s __nothing, __Heracles-san,__ I __just __had__ a __bad__ dream __in __which __I __killed __you __because __my __dark __side __took __over? __Oh, __and__ then __I__ killed__ myself, __because __I __couldn__'__t __bear __living __without __you?__"_ Closing my eyes, I try to focus my breathing, calm my harried mind. All of a sudden, there's no ground underneath me, and I reopen my eyes to find that Heracles-san has _picked __me __up_ and deposited me back on the futon. Wrapping an arm around me, pulling me into an embrace, his grip slackens just enough to let me breathe.

"Kiku, please." his voice shakes. "You're scaring me." He twines his other arm around my hips. "What am I supposed to think when you wake up like that and look at me like you don't even know me?"

My head shoots straight up. Did I look at him like that? No. I couldn't. But his face is buried in my neck, and he isn't looking at me any more. I feel his warm breath on my neck, and his arms around my body, and it's undeniable — he's here and he's not leaving anytime soon. _He_ can _be __stubborn __that __way, __can__'__t __he.__.__._ For some reason, wetness trickles down my face again, and I raise a hand to wipe it away, but he chooses that moment to lay himself down on the bedding, me on top of him. It's such an indirect echo of my dream, I'm feeling rather wary, but I shrug it off, putting my head on his chest, over his heart again.

* * *

><p>「涙」 「なみだ」 「namida」 「tears」<p>

I don't know how, but the touch of his skin under mine causes everything to spill out — waking up, looking for him, not finding him, _finding_ him, the blood, his words, the katana. . ._everything._ The tears are coming faster, and they fall onto his bare chest, so his skin glistens in the gradually fading moonlight. I don't even know if I'm making any sense to him, because it overflows, rapidly teetering out, and so I stumble over my explanation.

When I reach the part when I kill my dream-self, his grasp loses its slackness, and tightens once more. By this time, I'm shaking so violently that my vision blurs again, and to center myself, I raise my head to peer at his face. What I find there startles me. There still isn't much light out, but I can just barely making out trails of tears running down the planes of his face.

"Are you crying?" is what I ask him, but what I really mean is, why? Unsteadily reaching up to his cheek, I feel the dampness for myself, and he _is_ crying.

He shakes his head, lips curving up at the edges. Raising one hand toward my face, he says, "You are, too." Pausing, his hand strokes the back of my hair, and he adds in a lower tone, "It's just. . . I had a bad dream, too."

His low-pitched voice soothes my tightly strung nerves as he tells me of how he woke up in my house, to fall asleep there, and to wake up hearing voices arguing. Of how he followed me to my room, and fell asleep while waiting. To wake up for the second time, and my dream-self doesn't even realize that he's there. Touching me, but I didn't see him.

Instead, I reacted with suspicion, and it hurt him. _I__ hurt __him._ He pauses, and it festers, wearing at me, making me feel uncomfortable; so I shift my weight to his left, stretching one arm over to his other side in a one-armed embrace.

* * *

><p>— [Heracles] —<p>

* * *

><p>「初め」 「はじめ」 「hajime」 「a beginning」<p>

He moves to my left, and slips an arm across my chest, the other hand folded underneath his cheek. Unconsciously, my left arm tucks itself underneath his head, and I'm comforted. It's the everyday, small touches that define our relationship, sometimes more so than anything else. _It__'__s __said__ that __a__ "__picture__ is __worth __a__ thousand__ words__"__, __but __a __touch __is __worth __just __as __much._

Through these touches I can borrow his strength when my own is fading. And so, I pick up where I left off, aware of his quiet gaze on me. "You fell asleep. And I was waiting there in the shadows. But I couldn't help but touch you still. . ." As I relate to him how I caressed him, there in the dark, my hand lifts upwards to mirror those motions here in the present. He says nothing and watches with serene eyes, until I tell him how, in my dream, he started to sing.

This is when with eyebrows slightly crinkled, he leans forward and asks me, "A song? What did it sound like?" I pause, trying to recall its melody, and I hum it for him. Eyes widening in sudden understanding, he covers his mouth with a sleeve. When I ask him what's the matter, he shakes his head and says, "I. . . will show you later, Heracles-san. But please, continue."

There isn't much left to tell, so it comes out hurriedly, so much so that when I'm done, my breath is easily audible in the hushed surroundings of this room. _It __echoes._ He slips from my arm to hover above me, stroking the tears that I just now realized had restarted. _They __just __won__'__t __leave __me __alone __today, __huh.__.__._

"We're quite a pair, aren't we?" Kiku says aloud, smiling that same, contented smile he did before. "Crying together, again." _"__But__ it__'__s __OK. __We__'__re __doing __this __together.__"_ That's what his eyes tell me. _"__Together, __we__ cry; __and__ together, __we __heal.__"_

But something's not quite right still, not yet. "I. . . want to feel your heartbeat." I hesitate, telling him softly. Kiku nods, understanding, so I lift myself above his small body, nudging the folds of his yukata aside, putting my ear to his heart. It accelerates when I first hear it _—_ドキ、ドキ_— __doki,__ doki_ _—_ but it returns to its regular pulse; lying like that, I stay there for a few minutes. It occurs to me that while I've always considered Kiku beautiful, I've never thought of his heartbeat as such until now. _It__'__s__ strange __that __such __a__ simple __thing __reassures __me.__.__. but __then __again, __Kiku __did__ the __same__ thing, __so __there._

We settle back into bed, his head resting in the curve of my forearm once more, his hand tracing the skin on my abdomen. The last thing I feel before dropping into Hypnos's realm is his soft breaths hitting my shoulder, and the last thing I hear are his gentle, faint words:

_「おやすみなさい。」__ "__Oyasuminasai.__"_ Kiku doesn't say the last part, but I can feel it anyway —

"— _. . .my dear."_

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong>

I thank you for reading my fic if you've made it all the way to these notes.

Some cultural references, explained (this is the same explanation that's on dA):

「一人」 , or「ひとり」, ➡ used in Japanese to count that there's one person. (There are different suffixes to count different things.) Usually translated as "alone."

ドキ、ドキ ➡ Read "doki, doki," it's most often translated as "b-bmp, b-bmp" to reflect the sound effect it is: a heart beating fast.

Forty-Seven Ronin/四十七士 ➡ also known as the "Akō vendetta." A group of samurai were left _ronin_ after the _seppuku_ of their lord. Biding their time, they waited and eventually killed the man responsible for their _daimyo_'s death, in essence, taking revenge. For the murder, the _ronin_ were sentenced to _seppuku_ themselves.

_Ronin_ ➡ a masterless samurai.  
><em>Seppuku<em> ➡ ritualized suicide, usually committed to save face or restore honor.

「も う, いちどだけ. . .」➡ "Mō, ichido dake. . ." ➡ "Mō" doesn't really mean anything, it's just a sound, like "oh" or "ah." "Ichido dake" means "once more," or "one more time." Put together, they pretty much mean, "Oh, just once more."

すみません. . . ➡ Sumimasen. . . ➡ "Sumimasen" is an apology, much like "gomen," but "sumimasen" implies a more formal apology. Roughly, it means, "I am sorry."

_Katana_➡ the "long sword" of a matched _daisho_, or pair of swords, slightly longer than its shorter counterpart, the _wakizashi_ or short sword.

「あ いしてる、 ごめんなさい。」 ➡ "Aishiteru, gomennasai." ➡ "Aishiteru" means "I love you," while "gomennasai" is an apology, but it's somewhere between "gomen" and "sumimasen" in formality.  
>Just a note, but Heracles isn't apologizing for loving Kiku. He's apologizing <em>because<em> he loves Kiku, namely, for not being able to tell him what happened.

Bushido ➡ "bushido" may be referred to as "the warrior's code" or "the way of the warrior." Samurai live, and die, by bushido. Honor is a big part of it.

Tsukuyomi ➡ a.k.a. "Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto," is the moon deity in Shinto, and traditional Japanese mythology. He is male, which is interesting, because most cultures personify the moon as feminine, and the sun as masculine.

Artemis ➡ the female, Greek goddess of the moon, the hunt, and female chastity. She is the twin sister of Phoebus Apollo, the god of the sun/music, and the daughter of Zeus and Leto. Her Roman equivalent is called "Diana."

Notus ➡ the South wind of Greek mythology, and the bringer of late summer/early fall storms. His Roman equivalent is called "Auster."

Hypnos ➡ the god/personification of sleep in Greek mythology; his Roman equivalent is Somnus.

Iris ➡ she's the gods' messenger from Olympus to earth. Her means of travel is a rainbow. Not to be confused with Hermes, a.k.a. Mercury.

Hades ➡ the Greek god of death, or the realm of the dead which he presides over. Hades is the eldest of the children borne of the union between the Titaness Rhea and her brother, the Titan Cronus. However, in my fic, I refer to his realm, not he himself. _ Just a little background.

"Nii-san" ➡ an honorific used to refer to an older male, or in this case, literally, a "big brother" or an "older brother." Other forms include "onii-san," "nii-chan," or "onii-chan," the last being used by N. Italy in the original anime to refer to the older European countries.

_Xiǎo dìdì_ ➡ Chinese for "little brother."

Xiang ➡ I'm told that some fans use "Xiang" or "Kaoru" as Hong Kong's "human" name; however, I prefer "Xiang" as it fits better than "Kaoru," which sounds distinctly Japanese and reminds me of OHSHC.

「おねが い。」➡ "Onegai." ➡ is used to request something, and translates to "please" like "onegaishimasu," but the shorter "onegai" connotates a more informal request. In the fic, Kiku uses it to ask his "family" to let him be, addressing them familiarly.

「kage e」 「silhouette」 ➡ in this section, you may notice that Kiku takes an abnormally long bath. This is a reference I made to traditional Shinto purification rites. In Shintoism, purification is considered necessary. Impurity is bad, and caused by certain deeds.  
>The best example is when Izanagi-no-Mikoto descends to Yomi, the underworld, where he attempts to retrieve his wife, Izanami-no-Mikoto, when she dies in childbirth giving birth to the fire god. When he returns to the living world after being pursued by her through Yomi, he cleanses himself with water, therefore creating the gods Amaterasu, Tsukuyomi, and Susano-o.<p>

_Shoyu_ ➡ soy sauce. Not soya sauce. Soy sauce. But no one says that here. _ _

_Tatami_ ➡ traditional Japanese flooring, with a bamboo "core," and covered with woven straw.

ニ コニコ動画 ➡ "NicoNico Douga" ➡ also spelled "NikoNiko Dōga," it's a Japanese video-sharing site similar to YouTube. Read here for more info:

「歌」 ➡ in this section, Vocaloid fans might recognize the song as Vocaloid 初音ミク (Hatsune Miku)'s "Torinoko City" (「トリノコシティ」) or "Left Behind City" by 40mP (40meter-p).

"Σ 'αγαπώ." ➡ "S 'agapó," ➡ is, as you probably guessed it, Greek for "I love you."

_Yukata_ ➡ A light, thin kimono, usually made of cotton, worn mostly in summer or festival (matsuri) season.  
><em>Obi<em> ➡ A fabric "belt" used to fasten traditional Japanese clothing, namely kimono.

「ふたり」➡ 「futari」 ➡ Like "hitori," futari is used to refer to a group of two people, or a pair. Usually connotates a couple.

「おやすみなさい。」➡ "Oyasuminasai." ➡ means "Good night."

* * *

><p>Dedicated specifically to charl. <em><strong>SPECIFICALLY.<strong>_

Again, UBER love to my friend charljordan on dA. Seriously. Charl is awesome. No, really, if you like Giripan, check her stuff out! 3 3 3

I DO NOT CLAIM TO OWN ANYTHING USED IN HERE OTHER THAN THIS FAN FICTION. Everything else belongs to their original, rightful owners. If you'd like to see my full-length, long-ass disclaimer, please check out this fic on my dA account, hina-girlluvxx.

If you like this, feel very free to fave or add me to your Alerts, but I'd like to specifically request that you please leave a review! I don't write as much as I draw, so please, please, please tell me what you like or dislike about my writing! It can be anonymous or whatevers, but tell me!

If anyone can tell me all of the song references I used in this fic, OTHER than Torinoko City, I will seriously write or draw you something. Not counting Torinoko City, there's about 6-7 of them. Some of them are really subtle, though, so good luck. :D

My next fic is most likely gonna be Spamano, or USUK, or maybe even more Giripan. Please look forward to it?


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